


anymore

by grand_highWombo



Series: netflix original bro strider: the movie: the musical [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: also i tried for this to be platonic, bro is trying his best guys, he has no idea what hes doing, lets just say its platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grand_highWombo/pseuds/grand_highWombo
Summary: bro and dave strife. this is what happens after.
Relationships: Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider & Dave Strider
Series: netflix original bro strider: the movie: the musical [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793662
Kudos: 10





	anymore

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: bro strider's A+ emotional skills.

Sometimes you wonder why you try at all. The kid obviously wants to be left alone, so why bother?   
And then you remind yourself why you do anything for this kid. 

And so with a sharp breath you knock again on his bedroom door. 

You could bust in easily, but you figure that he at least needs a locking door. Teens and their privacy, ya know? You go to knock again, but you hear the door unlocking -- the mechanisms click out of place and the door uneventfully opens.   
He’s wearing a pair of shades he got from a friend -- you think his name was Josh? Johnny? Joseph? You weren’t sure -- but you can tell that he’s not in the mood for anything you have to say. 

He never seems to be, anymore. 

You’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually. Have you pushed him too far? 

You open your mouth to say something, but he starts trembling. Sharp pangs of guilt shoot through your stomach, and you think you’re going to vomit. No time for that. You stand there, watching as tears cascade down Dave’s cheeks from behind his shades. His hands are balled into fists, and he bites his lip to suppress his ragged breathing.   
You carefully raise a hand to pull him in -- or any sort of comforting gesture -- only to have it frozen mid-motion. 

Who are you kidding? You don’t know what you’re doing; you never have and never will. 

Why start learning now when you’ve fucked up this much already?

Just as you find yourself able to swallow down the knot in your throat, he turns and slams his door shut behind him. 

You stand there for a moment. 

A plethora of thoughts and emotions crash into you. You look down at your hands, which have small amounts of blood on them. 

You did this.  
You don’t understand why all you cause is pain, nowadays… but was it ever any different?   
You wish there was a way to fix things. 

But you feel that by now it’s too late. 

You walk regularly to the kitchen, avoiding all traps without a second thought. Propping yourself up against the dingy countertop, you grab a room temperature beer from beside you. 

You debate it for a moment. 

You’ve got nothing to lose anymore, right? No more bridges to burn...?  
Right. 

You crack it open, about to take a swig when you see Dave out of the corner of your eye. 

He looks like a wreck. His clothes are dirty, and there’s several scratches on his visible skin. Blood is speckled on his shirt, and his shoes are scuffed beyond repair. 

With a sigh, you pour out the beer into the sink. 

You ask him if he has something to say. He doesn’t answer immediately, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.   
He says he’s sorry. You don’t know why he would say that. You don’t voice your concern, opting to just stay quiet while you mull over what you could possibly say in response. 

After a long moment of static, you tell him that he shouldn’t be. He’s not in the wrong, after all. 

What you don’t tell him is how you feel. You can never tell him that.   
You already put so much stress on him as it is. He doesn’t need to know about everything else.

He stands there for a moment longer, before turning around and leaving the room. You wait to hear the click of his lock before sighing. 

Why are you like this?

Why do you have to repress everything? 

To protect him? 

To shelter him?

You know well that your guarded eyes and radio static can only “help” so much. 

You want him to grow up strong.  
But an overworked sword will only stay strong for so long--  
\--eventually, it breaks.

You know that you’ve pushed him too far. 

He’s just a kid, after all. 

It’s hard trying to do the right thing… It’s hard, and nobody understands. 


End file.
